


Happy at Home

by jessahmewren



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Band Fic, Deacury, Early Days, Freddie spends the grocery money on clothes and I'm pretty sure that happened at some point, M/M, i love four boys, soft john deacon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 19:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17668646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessahmewren/pseuds/jessahmewren
Summary: A few weeks into joining the band, John begins to doubt his place.  Freddie helps him remember he's right where he belongs.





	Happy at Home

-0-0-0-

Sunlight sifted through a small window and settled onto the secondhand sofa in the cramped apartment.  The upholstery was yellow, with little nicks and largeish rips along the seams.  It reminded John of the one in his mother’s parlor.  A sudden wave of nostalgia swept over him at the thought, and he felt woefully out of place. 

Even more so than he already did. 

In the corner, Brian propped his prized guitar against one long leg and polished it lovingly, stopping intermittingly to make minor adjustments to its tuning or to tend to some other detail attributed to the custom piece.  Brian May, as far as John could tell, was the most polite genius he’d ever met.  John had only been a part of the band a few weeks, but Brian had revealed himself to be one of the most welcoming, earnest, encouraging, and brilliant people he had ever met. 

John picked a bit on his bass, working out the notes for a song they were working on.  He was a perfectionist at heart, and he wanted to get the chords right before having to study for the mechanics test he had in the morning.  He had no idea how long school and the band would both be viable, but he wanted to do both for as long as he could. 

Brian heard his noodling and looked up, smiling.  “’S good, ‘s good.” His mass of dark brown curls bounced around his face as he slung the strap over his shoulder before moving from where he sat at the counter to plug into an amp.  He slumped back down on the barstool and began playing a quiet riff. 

“Try this, eh John?  Buh-bum buh buh dum buh buh bum ….” Brian began coaxing a new bassline out of John to accompany the song, and John’s soon fell into a bluesy rhythm with the dulcet tones of Brian’s guitar. 

The duo’s impromptu music brought a third party from the adjoining kitchenette, a flaxen-haired man with an angelic face, holding a beer and wearing a shirt about two sizes too small and accentuating his trim physique.  His bright eyes appraised the two.  “So, we’re doing this then?”  His almost musical voice was amused, almost excited. 

John smiled, genuinely happy to see him.  If Brian was polite, Roger was raucous and bubbly.  He too had welcomed him instantly, but had appraised his bass playing as critically as Brian had in the beginning.  He was both a walking party and a brilliant musician, and had gained John’s respect instantly. 

“Just a bit of a jam session Rog.” Brian nodded to the drumset near the back of the room.  “Join in if you like.” 

Roger’s eyes looked impossibly blue as he tossed back the rest of his beer.  “Don’t mind if I do lovies.”  He settled himself behind the drums, looking every bit as impressive as his expert playing.  The blonde tresses that framed his delicate features picked up the highlights in the reflective chrome of the drumset, and to John, at least for a moment, he looked every bit a sun god sitting on a gilded throne, ready to beat out rhythms of pure light. 

Roger rolled his sticks across the drums, a lazy percussion almost to wake them up.  “Hey,” he said as if suddenly remembering, “Where’s Freddie?”

Brian smiled fondly, dropping his guitar riff into the lower notes as John kept up with him.  “Where is he ever?”

Roger laughed at that, exuberantly punctuating Brian’s statement with a rowdy drumbeat before working out a rhythm to accompany their jam. 

To John, that answer didn’t make sense.  But again, so much about Freddie was still a mystery to him. 

First of all, he felt he was the band member he knew the least.  It wasn’t that Freddie was unfriendly…not at all.  In fact, he was overly friendly, if there was such a thing. It was just that Freddie was so far above John in everything that he found it difficult to relate to him.  His hair, his clothes, his godlike stage presence, and dear God, his voice.  He had never heard anyone that could sing like him.  John was just a geek with a bass.  Freddie was something otherworldly.  John could barely speak to him. 

Then, as if summoning him from the vapor, Freddie burst through the door, three white shopping bags dangling from his lithe arms.  He wore a white fur cape, dark sunglasses, and his black glossy hair hung long and shining along his shoulders. 

“Hello darlings!” he said brightly, thrusting the shopping bags at John who set his bass aside long enough to take them before they hit the floor.  He stripped off his sunglasses in the most regal way John had ever seen anyone do and made a quick survey of the room. 

“Roger my love, get me something to drink.  I’ve been shopping and I’m positively parched,” Freddie said dramatically as he sagged against the ragged sofa, bumping into John as John rushed to scoot over and make room for him.  There wasn’t much room to be had, however, and John still found himself pressed close enough to his fur cape to feel the softness of it through his bland button-down.

Roger pressed a cold beer into Freddie’s hand; Freddie lifted it to his generous mouth, downing it in a few droughts.  Freddie had his head thrown back across the sofa when Brian made his way around the corner. 

“Those bags better have groceries in them Mr. Bulsara.”

Brian’s dad voice, John thought. This can’t be good. 

Freddie never opened his eyes.  “You know it’s Mercury now, Bri.  And it’s better than groceries.”  Freddie finally lifted his head and gave the looming Mr. May an enigmatic smile.  “It’s clothes.” 

John thought Brian was going to pop a vein in his forehead.  “Have you gone mad?!  That was that last of our money you twat, and we’re out of food.” Brian stalked off, his long strides making heavy steps in the clogs he wore.  

Freddie looked at Roger who was staring at the entire scene rather wide-eyed with his hands on his hips.  He then took a wad of bills from a trouser pocket and handed them to him.  “Now go get the darling and go grocery shopping, hmm?  There should be enough left to do us ‘till Wednesday, and my mother can cook for us the rest of the week.” 

Roger’s hands closed around the money as a bright smile lit his face.  “Your mother makes that good rice.”

Freddie smiled back.  “Fucking right she does.”  He nodded in Brian’s direction.  “Go on now.  Groceries won’t buy themselves.” 

Roger trotted off, stopping halfway and looking back.  “You two aren’t coming with?”

Freddie lifted his chin.  “No.  John and I need to talk.  You two go on.  We’ll keep the home fires burning,” he said with a lascivious smile.

Panicked thoughts immediately flooded John’s mind.  What would they need to talk about?  What had he done?  He knew he wasn’t the best bass player, but he thought he was getting on ok.  He had always been nice to Freddie, hadn’t he?  What had he DONE?

“Darling, what IS it?  Are you well?"  Freddie’s melodious voice interrupted his racing thoughts.  He pressed the cool fingers of one hand against John’s face, looking truly concerned.  John was so overwrought that he scarcely heard the front door snick closed as Roger and Brian left.  

John closed his eyes, his cheeks flushed bright red against Freddie’s touch.  His hands were even softer than he imagined they would be. 

“John?”  His name was honey on Freddie’s tongue as he inquired of him more quietly than before.  “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong my dear?”

John opened his eyes only to meet the deep brown depths of Freddie’s.  He took a few steadying breaths before pulling away from his touch. 

“I-I’m fine,” he managed.  “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, Fred?”

Freddie laughed softly.  “Nothing too serious dearie.  Nothing too serious. I just thought, you know, we haven’t had a lot of time to talk.  Just you and me.” 

Something still didn’t compute.  Something still felt wrong.  It had to be wrong, didn’t it?  John swallowed hard. 

“I’m sorry if I did anything,” he began, “especially if I said anything to you or—“

Freddie looked stricken.  “No darling, NO.  Everything is perfect.  You’re perfect.”

John laughed bitterly.  “I’m far from perfect.”  He looked at Freddie almost sadly.  “I can’t sing.  I’m not pretty like Roger or smart like Brian.” He met Freddie’s eyes almost sheepishly.  “I’m nothing at all like you.” 

Freddie reached up and stroked John’s long hair.  “You may not be as blonde as Roger,” Freddie began, but your hair shines gold in the sun.”  He silked a strand through his fingers so it would catch the light from the window.  “See?” he said with a smile. 

“And you can too sing.  Where would my background vocals be without the song stylings of one Sir John Deacon?” Freddie said as he straightened the fur cape on his prim shoulders.  “And smart?  Who builds their own amp?  Fucking thing’s the best one we’ve ever had.  God’s sakes smart…,” Freddie muttered. 

He began rifling through the shopping bags at his feet as John just sat there, processing all he’d said.  “As you know I’ve been shopping,” Freddie began, a small smile playing at the corners of his full lips.  “I got you a few things.”

John blinked, but before he had time to wonder if he had heard him correctly, a small collection of clothing was dumped into his lap. 

Freddie’s effervescent giggle at John’s doe-eyed expression jolted him out of his shock.  “Well, try them on, silly.”  Immediately Freddie began pawing through the pile until he had landed on a black jumper with black stone detailing along the collar and sleeves.  “THIS,” he exclaimed.  “This one first.  It was the first thing I bought.” 

Freddie brushed away the rest of the beautiful clothes as if they were rags and began working on John’s buttons.  Instantly John stiffened, recoiling a bit at Freddie’s sudden touch.  Freddie stopped, laughing softly.   

“Are you shy? That’s adorable.”

John shook his head, a deep frown on his face.  How could he tell him honestly how he felt?  That of the four of them, he was the worst looking?  That he wasn’t tightly packed muscle like Roger, or lean and willowy like Brian.  Or ethereal like Freddie.  He was gawky and gangly. 

“You can go into the next room,” Freddie encouraged, “but I really want to see this jumper on you.  You’re the first person I thought of when I saw it at Biba.”

The little blush that crept up his face stirred his confidence, so John unbuttoned enough buttons on his shirt to take it off over his head.  He finally sat there, cheeks burning, shirt off and hair spilling around his shoulders, in front of Freddie Mercury.

He saw rather than heard Freddie’s little intake of air.  His eyes were all over him, which John did not expect, and if he was nervous before he was positively mortified now.  If that worn sofa could open up and swallow—

“You are absolutely magnificent darling,” Freddie said a little breathlessly.  “It’s obvious you have this lovely tone to your skin but I had no idea it would be…all over and so smoothly represented.”  Freddie laughed at himself, a rare moment of embarrassment.  “I guess I thought you had a farmer’s tan and you were somehow pale under there! But you’re not John Deacon...you’re so far from it.”

He cleared his throat, grabbing the black jumper and smoothing it down over John’s head and chest.  As John pulled his arms through it, he could feel the same luxurious softness that must be apparent in Freddie’s cape.  The jumper felt amazing. 

John hugged his arms, absently running his fingers over the black stone detailing at the sleeve.  Inexplicably, his eyes began to tear. 

“I don’t know what to say Freddie, but thank you.  It’s beautiful.” 

Freddie graced him with one of his wide smiles, then reached and pulled him into the warmth and softness of the fur cape.  His face was flush against his, the cool fullness of his lips pressed into the heat of his cheek.  He could feel his breath feather his hair.  _Freddie Mercury…Freddie Mercury_.  He’d never been so close to an actual force of nature before and he just wanted to breathe him in. 

John could feel Freddie smile against him, and his eyelids fluttered.  “You’re beautiful, Deaky.  Don’t ever forget that.”  He pressed a light kiss to his cheek, then released him, but not before allowing his hands another glide down the sides of the new jumper.  “Damn, I have good taste.”

They both laughed, looking away as Brian and Roger crashed through the door with armloads of groceries.

Freddie met Brian to help with the bags, locking eyes with him.  “All is well my love?”

Brian nodded quickly, smiling. “All is well.”  Brian glanced in John’s direction and his smile widened.  “You did good Fred.” 

Roger stumbled in with too many bags for one person, smashing them onto the counter.  “You look bloody GREAT,” he said to John.  “I’m borrowing that for our next gig.” 

John smiled.  “’k.”

“This all turned out smashing, I’d say,” Freddie announced proudly.  “Wouldn’t you say Deaky?”

John managed a smile without blushing.  “Smashing,” he agreed.

“Deaky?,” Roger called from the kitchenette.  “I like that!  Now what are we having for dinner?"

-0-0-0-

**Author's Note:**

> my twitter/tumblr is @jessahmewren. Thanks for reading!


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